


Like Real People Do

by darkling2222



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt and comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-09-26 15:15:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20391784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkling2222/pseuds/darkling2222
Summary: Honey just put your sweet lips on my lipsWe should just kiss like real people do





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit of a slow start but it'll pick up. I am fond of the idea that Hardy greets every incidence of human kindness with complete confusion and mild hostility.

There’s a soft knock on his office door but Hardy doesn't look up from the report on his desk. It briefly crosses his mind that it must not be Miller because she would have just walked in. 

“It’s open!” he shouts, taking off his reading glasses

A young woman with dark hair pokes her head in. He’s seen her before and it dimly registers with him that she might be the secretary but her name is completely beyond him. 

“How do you take your tea, sir?” she asks. He’s momentarily perplexed by why this stranger would be asking him how he took his tea but he still answers. 

“Two sugars.” 

“Thank you,” She nods and ducks out again with no further explanation. He grumbles under his breath at the inane interruption. Don't these people know he's trying to solve a murder? Her presence is a strange blip that he had already put out of his mind when the quiet knock is back again a few minutes later. 

“It’s still open!” The young woman opens the door, seemingly unaffected by his harsh shout. She's holding a mug in her hand. 

“There you are, sir.” She sets a mug down on one of the few spots on his desk that hasn't been completely overwhelmed by reports and folders and various other paper. She doesn't say any more, turning and stepping out of his office, shutting the door behind her. 

He stares down at the mug with vague suspicion. It appears to be tea and if context clues are any help, it probably has two sugars. 

After a moment or two of scrutiny, he takes it. He hasn't had anything to eat since lunch yesterday and tea is better than nothing even though its sudden appearance is a mystery. 

He's only alone in his office for a few minutes before a second interruption arrives. 

"Sir, I have the reports from the CCTV footage." Miller says as she steps into his office. She doesn't knock. 

"Anything good?" He asks

"Nothing of note. There's no overlap between the cars on the lower highway and the cars on the cliffs." 

Hardy makes an irritated sound from the back of his throat and stands, joints cracking painfully after how long he'd been sitting at his desk. That CCTV footage isn't going to get them anywhere. They need to quit that lead and try something else. He looks out of the large glass window of his office out onto the bullpen. The dark-haired young woman is sitting behind the reception desk, balancing the phone receiver on her shoulder as she takes notes on what the caller is telling her. 

"Who is that?" He asks, covertly pointing to reception. Miller pauses a second before stepping up to the window, surprised by the sudden change in topic. She follows his gaze to reception, curious what would bring his attention away from the case at hand. 

"Oh, that's Liza. She's the day secretary. Why do you ask?"

"She brought me this tea." He says, slightly tipping the mug her direction to show the unexplained tea. This explanation completely loses Miller's interest.

"Huh, that's lucky. She makes the best tea in the office. We had a contest and everything one time." Miller answers absently, flipping a page past in the folder. 

"Who is she?" 

"She's the day secretary." This is basically the limit of her information but she momentarily looks up from the folder to dredge up any facts that would be of interest to him. "She's good at her job. Types 75 words a minute, always comes in on time."

"Is that all you know?" Hardy asks with a sharp edge of criticism. Miller bristles. 

"Who are you to talk? You didn't even know her name."

"Do you know anything else?"

"God, I don't know. I think she's said before that she lives up on the hill by the school." 

"By herself? Any family? Boyfriend?"

"Not that I know of. She doesn't talk about anybody either way." 

"Why would she bring me tea? What does she want?" He asks, circling back to the central question. 

"I don't know. She's a nice girl, everyone likes her around the office. Do you think we should re-review the CCTV footage on the Southside highway?"

"Do- do you think it's because she's interested?" 

“In you?” She asks, eyebrows raised. Hardy shifts slightly on his feet, trying to decide whether or not to be offended.

“Well--yes--” He starts but Miller cuts him off, smacking his arm with the folder.

"Ow!" he protests, holding his injured arm. 

"You leave her alone! She's a baby!" She chastises, raising the folder up like she's going to hit him again. 

"God, Miller, I know that. I just wanted to know if I need to avoid her. Put that thing down!"

"I'm sure that's what you meant." She says scornfully, lowering the folder from its offensive position. "Dirty old man." She says under her breath. 

"Let’s just get back to the case." Hardy answers crossly, turning his attention back to the case. "Who reviewed the Southside CCTV?"

The matter of the tea doesn't come up between them again.


	2. I knew that look dear/eyes always seeking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips  
We should just kiss like real people do

Unbenknownst to Hardy, that first cup of tea begins a ritual that Liza faithfully performed every day. She shows up at his office door at exactly noon with a cup of tea with two sugars. She says a quick hello and a "here you go, sir." and returns to her desk with no further talk and no further explanation. But it happens with a persistence and punctuality that you could set your clock to it. 

Hardy is no closer to knowing why she does it but with the Latimer case looming large, he doesn’t have time to think about it. He has mostly accepted it as simply a reality that happens in Broadchurch, a remnant of rural hospitality that’s as natural as the cliffs

And at end of the day she always stops by his open office door for a quick goodbye.

"Goodnight, DI Hardy." 

"Goodnight, Liza." He doesn't call her by her last name because he doesn't know it. They've never been formally introduced. 

He can count on one hand the number of times he left the office before her but when he does he always comes by reception on his way out and reciprocates the ritual of goodbyes. She always seems pleased that he remembers and offers him a smile that he's always a little embarrassed about enjoying. It's completely foolish to feel pleased because he made the secretary smile. 

She doesn't forget goodbyes even when she leaves early with the rest to go to Finley's retirement at the bar down the street. 

"Are you coming with us?" She asks, leaning slightly forward into his office. 

"No, not this time." There's never going to be a time that he goes with them but he's learned over the years that people like to think that he might. He half expects her to try and convince him but she doesn’t break pattern.

"Alright then, goodnight."

"Goodnight." 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
When Miller arrives to the bar, it’s already loud, packed with police trying to force a good time. They’re all working hard telling jokes and ordering drinks, trying not to let the investigation put a damper on the party. Liza sits alone at the bar, looking out at the crowd with an amused smile as she watches the festivities unfold. Once in awhile someone will offer a pleasantry and a little conversation but mostly she’s by herself. She's so quiet and unassuming that it's easy for her to get lost in the background.

Miller sits down next to her at the bar. She’d never thought much about the day secretary before but this recent little pattern with Hardy and the tea intrigues her. She’s more watchful then he is and she can tell there’s something more going on. 

"Hello, DI Miller." Liza greets politely. 

"Oh, you don't need to call me Miller. You can just call me Ellie. Have you got a drink? Finley’s paying." 

"No, no, I don’t drink. That’s kind of him though; paying for his own retirement." She jokes gently but Miller cuts to the chase. 

"Can I ask you a personal question?" The younger woman regards Miller for a cautious moment before answering. 

"Okay, I guess."

"Why do you bring Hardy tea everyday?" 

"Oh, that." A slight blush comes over her cheeks and she looks away from Miller, fixing her shy gaze on the bowl of peanuts on the bar instead. Miller's heart drops. 

"Oh god, don't tell me you have a crush on him." Miller exclaims and Liza giggles behind her hand. 

"Goodness, no. It's not that."

"Thank God! He could be your dad."

"Well, I'm 26. I'm not quite sure if he could be my dad." It strikes Miller that she doesn't really have any idea how old Hardy is. In her mind’s eye he's an old man but he's probably around her age. He's just worn out. 

"So, dad or not, what's up with the tea?"

"I don't know, he just seems sad is all." Miller laughs

"I've heard a dozen people say he seems like a jackass but you're the first person who said he seems sad."

"Well, you can be sad and be a jackass." She jokes before her expression gets more serious, "This investigation has just been so awful. And he's all alone here." She pauses a second, trying to come up with a way to explain. "I mean, what do you think you’d do if you didn’t have Joe and Tom?”

“I’d probably go crazy.” Miller has run interrogations long enough that she knows this is time to be quiet and let her talk. 

“Hardy doesn’t have anybody. He’s doing this terrible job and he’s all alone.” She says it in a way that makes Miller think that she knows what it’s like to be in a terrible place. To be all alone. 

She catches herself and shrugs, a little embarrassed 

“So I thought I might make him some tea.”

"I don’t know, sometimes I don't think he even feels it." Liza shakes her head.

"He does. Everybody feels this sort of thing." There’s the weight of experience on her voice, giving her words substance. Miller nods. There’s a burst of laughter from the back of the bar and they both turn to watch Finley take four shots in rapid succession. 

“I should go make sure Finley survives his first night of retirement.” Liza laughs, offering Miller a little wave goodbye. 

It’s not long before Liza is getting ready to slip out. Parties have never really been her strong suit. She says a quick goodbye to an already tipsy Finley and goes to get her coat off the hook when she realizes she’s left her scarf at the office. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Liza’s surprised to find the door unlocked. She had come by the station on a whim, fully expecting to find it closed for the night. She cautiously steps inside, the lights are still on but she doesn’t see anyone. 

"Hello?" She asks out into the empty office. 

Hardy scrambles up from where he was curled up on the floor. He can't stand to let anyone find him like this, can’t let anyone see him crying. He thinks later that he probably could have stayed curled up on the floor and she might have left without noticing him, but he doesn't think that in the moment. Vulnerability is simply too much of a danger.

She jumps a mile when he suddenly materializes from behind a desk.

"Oh my god." She yelps, dropping her coat and scarf, hand flying to her heart. It takes her a moment to recognize that it’s him, scolding as she leans down to pick up her coat. "Jesus, Hardy, you nearly gave me a heart attack--”

Her scolding abruptly cuts off when she looks up at him. His face is flushed red, but he manages to choke down the end of a sob with a strangled sniffle, hurriedly wiping away a line of tears off his cheeks. As hard as he tries, it’s too late to hide. 

"What happened?" Liza asks as she takes a step towards him, reaching out a hand. Her first instinct to press her hand to his cheek or hair, to comfort him. 

A hideous vulnerability wells up in him and for the briefest of moments, he wants her to go with her instincts. He wants her to sit with him and stroke his hair, to tell him that everything was going to be alright. That they’ll catch the killer and Danny will be alright and maybe then children will stop dying. 

She doesn’t. Liza catches herself just in time, remembering who she is and who he is, and she stops. Embarrassment rises in Hardy’s throat like bile as he pushes that want back down inside himself.

"I'm working." He manages, the tail of a sob cracking over the words and he coughs, forcing his voice back to its usual gruffness. 

Her hand is still outstretched and it’s too late to retract it so she compromises, letting her hand come to rest on his shoulder. Her touch is so light that he can barely feel the weight and it’s only there a fluttering second before her hand returns to its worried perch on her collarbone. They both know it’s not enough but they both wish it could be. 

She starts to ask what's wrong again, but she stops herself and drops her eyes to the floor instead. It's the most privacy she can offer him as he collects himself.

"What are you doing back here? I thought everyone was at the bar." He asks, trying to return their relationship to boss and secretary, not of a young woman who found him crying on the floor. 

"I forgot my scarf." He nods, trying to pretend he's rubbing his eyes out of tiredness and not to wipe away the last of his tears. "Would you like me to stick around?" She asks, trying to keep any pity out of her tone but he can still smell it. 

"No, no, it's late. You should go home." He starts collecting the papers he’d been looking at, mounting a retreat back to his office as he waits for her to leave. But she just stands there, seeming to decide something. 

"It's alright. I have some busy work to finish up. I'll keep you company." She says with finality, setting her purse down on her desk. 

“No, it’s late.” He repeats, wracking his mind for a reason to make her leave. 

“I have some typing I’ve been putting off. I’ll get that squared away and I’ll go.” He wants to argue but he can't think of a reason to tell her not to work so he turns back to his office. Maybe it’ll be enough to just stay in his office and not engage. 

She offers him the mercy of not talking. He can hear her nails clicking on her keyboard and, as much as he’d like to pretend that her sticking around is just an inconvenience, there is a certain comfort in a human presence. And she’s enough structure to keep him from falling apart again. 

It’s half an hour before she’s at his door again, this time she’s back wearing her coat and the retrieved scarf. He is dually hopeful and disappointed that she’s leaving. 

"Have you eaten anything tonight?" She asks

"Haven't had the time." He answers, returning to the reports. He doesn’t even have the time to have this conversation. 

"I'm going to get something to eat, do you want anything?"

"No, I'm fine." 

“Alright, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Miller would have fought him on it, gotten into a tizzy about his health but Liza accepts without argument. 

It’s about half an hour before she walks back into his office carrying a bag of take-out Chinese. He hadn't invited her in but she settles in as if he had, sitting in the chair across from his desk as if it was perfectly natural. She takes out the take-out cartons and carefully divides the beef broccoli and rice. One of the halved containers is set down in front of him on the desk. He regards it skeptically over his reading glasses.

"I said I didn't need anything."

"I'm not going to eat all of this. You can have the other half." 

"Just put it in the fridge." He says stubbornly, not looking up from the log he was checking over, refusing to acknowledge it. It was patronizing of her to ignore what he told her under this flimsy pretext. It crosses his mind that she might have already eaten before she came back to the office and the whole meal was a pretext. 

"I don't like it re-heated. I'm going to throw it out if you don't eat it." She dismisses his suggestion as she pokes at the broccoli in her container. He regards the cardboard carton distrustfully for a second. He can’t remember the last time he’s eaten anything and, pretext or not, she’s going to throw it away if he doesn’t eat it. 

He sets the logs aside and begrudgingly accepts the carton. He catches a little glimmer of triumphant in her eye. The silence drags between them.

"So..." He feels compelled to start a conversation, awkward though it is. They are eating a meal together after all and he does try to follow a few rules of courtesy. "Did you grow up in Broadchurch?"

"No, I came here when I was a teenager."

"With your family?"

"No, by myself."

"Where does your family live?"

"I don't have any. My parents died in a car accident." His rapid-fire interrogation has backed them both into an awkward conversational corner. He has enough sense not to go any further with this line of questioning even though he hadn't had enough sense to keep himself out of the situation. The silence grows between them and she mercifully takes control of the conversation. 

"Do you like staying in Broadchurch?"

"It's alright. I'm hoping I won't be here long." He says grimly, stabbing at a piece of broccoli. She nods and they lapse back into silence for the rest of dinner. It’s really not a difficult silence. Liza is always quiet anyway so it doesn’t really feel strange not to talk. 

“Thank you for eating with me.” She says with a pleased little smile as she gets up to head back to her desk. 

“Welcome.” Hardy answers with a curt nod, settling back into the case as she starts up typing again. 

He feels a bit better now that he’s eaten, the strange jumping of his heart had settled a little. He hadn’t even realized that he’d been feeling poorly, he had been so focused on the case that the slow deterioration hadn’t even registered until it was over. 

He looks out at her from his open office door as she types away on her computer and it suddenly strikes him that she’s not going to leave until he does. She would stay here all night if he did. And he realizes that, in her quiet way, she’s using her presence to force him to leave the office. 

He makes a disgusted noise at the back of her throat as he goes to get his coat down off the hook. He hates that it’s working. 

“I’m going back to the hotel. Would you like me to walk you to your car?” She smiles up at him radiantly. 

“Yes, please.” They walk out together side by side and she keeps the self-satisfied smile on her face the whole way. He wants to be more annoyed with her then he is but she’s so dogged in her pursuit to be kind to him that it’s hard to keep up much irritation. 

“Goodnight DI Hardy.” She says with a little wave when she get to her car. 

“Goodnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m letting our boy be a lot more chivalrous then he is in canon. He probably would’ve just let that girl work all through the night and not even notice XD


	3. Like Real People Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips  
We should just kiss like real people do

Hardy collapses onto the bed and stares up at the hotel ceiling. For a long time, he just lays there, breathing. Feeling his ribcage expand as his lungs fill with air and then out again, feeling the dull ache in his bones, the sickly rhythm of his heart. 

It’s finally over. 

Joe Miller was in jail. Ellie Miller was settled in a hotel room for the night, or at least as settled as anyone could be under the circumstance. The Latimer’s had all the peace that justice could afford them. 

Even now that it’s over, he can feel the weight of Danny Latimer. A case always takes from you but usually it's slow, a little at a time. But by the time he arrived in Broadchurch, there was already so little left of him. The job had already taken his marriage, his daughter, his health. He had thought, hoped really, that maybe he’d already lost everything. That whatever met him at the sea wouldn’t be able to hurt him because there’d be nothing left to hurt.

But there’s always something left to take, he knows that now. Even when there's only bones left to chew on. There’s always something left to hurt. 

His thoughts are interrupted by a soft knock at the door. He closes his eyes, trying to pretend that he’d imagined the sound. The knocking hesitates a moment but then it’s back, louder now. He finally drags himself up. It might be important. They might need him for the case. 

He opens the door and blinks hard, trying to focus his vision through the haze of three days without sleep. It takes him a moment to register that it's Liza standing on the other side. 

"It's a little late for tea, isn't it?" The words come out nastier than he wants but he can't force himself to scrape up an politeness right now. He's a little surprised that he can manage to talk at all. 

But he still waves her in. She's probably got some message from the station; they need him for something. He has to go back to the office. He has to. He has to. He repeats it in his head like a mantra, trying to force himself to stay upright, to stay functional. 

"I hope I didn't wake you." She says softly, stepping behind him and shutting the door behind her. 

"You didn't." He already knows that he’s not going to be sleeping tonight. "What do you want?" He turns back to her and finally notices the tears glittering in her eyes. He starts to ask what's wrong but she throws her arms up around his neck before he can.

Hardy freezes in her embrace. He stammers out a few disconnected words, hands flitting awkwardly over her shoulder blades. He's not sure if he should hug her back or not. He's not sure what's going on at all. He can feel her trembling, a little sob breaking from her throat. 

She's so close that he can smell the perfume in her hair, a soft lilac scent, and something inside him breaks. The desperate, needy part of himself that he's been so careful to keep back, so careful to keep tied down. The part of himself that still feel the hurt. That can't stand to be alone.

He pulls her close, his arms locked tight around her waist, his face pressed into her hair. 

They hold onto each other for a long time. Their embrace is so close that it's painful. His fingers curl claw-like into her side and her tears bleed hot through his collar. It feels like if they weren't holding each other together then they'd both fall apart. 

He breathes a long shaking sigh against her dark hair and finally manages to loosen his grip a little. He pulls away just enough to look at her. Her face is flushed red, make-up slightly smeared as she looks back at him. He just stares at her, transfixed by her, as if hers was the first human face he'd ever seen. She presses a hand to his cheek. The touch is so gentle that it hurts, it hurts. He reaches down and kisses her hard, fingers tangled in her long hair. She kisses him back, already unbuttoning his white dress shirt. 

Clothes are torn away, skin on skin, hot and real and alive. There's no talk of desires or insecurities or even of contraception. There's no talking at all. He just pulls closer to her. Anything to not be empty, anything not to be alone. 

They hide their eyes in each other and ignore the ghosts of things they've watched die, of things they've killed. Danny Latimer, Jack Marshal, Ellie Miller's marriage. They forget those names in the moments of rushed breathing and arched backs, they forget that they've been tainted by them. They can just kiss like real people do. 

Her hands tangle in his hair, little gasping moans hot in his ear as he presses on top of her. Her hips move in rhythm with him and he feels her tighten around him. Her back arches as she cries out and he cries out with her, collapsing on top of her. 

He feels her chest heaving, her sweat hot on his skin. He feels her hand pressed to the back of his head, tangled in his hair. 

The calm only lasts a moment before his head is swimming and he can't catch his breath. He rolls off of her, struggling to sit up, scrambling to grab the pills off the nightstand. It registers with him for the first time that this might not have been an activity he should be doing with an arrhythmia. 

The attack slowly fades with a few deep breaths. The pills are still working but each time it's harder to get to them on time and the feeling of drowning is lasting longer. Each attack is a reminder that he doesn’t have much time. Doesn’t have much time to put things right. 

He sits at the side of the bed for a few minutes, catching his breath, feeling his heartbeat sink back to normal. His thoughts already start circling all the ways the case could be going wrong. Broadchurch police had never dealt with a murder before, they might not know procedure after a subject had been apprehended, they could get it wrong. 

"I need to get back to work." He says, trying to rally the momentum to stand. He can feel her eyes on his back. 

"No, you don't." She answers simply. He turns back to her, fight sharp on his tongue. Ready to argue that yes he does, he has to. He needs to go back to work. 

But she doesn’t give him the chance, reaching out to take his hand, twining her fingers with his.

He's just so tired. He has to make sure the case is finished properly, he has to. But he's just so tired. That hollow, empty, scraped-out feeling is still right on the edge of overwhelming him. He has the sudden, panicked sense that if he tries to stand, he'll collapse, that he might die right there. If he gives any more of himself then there really wouldn't be anything left of him. 

His resolve wavers and then breaks. He lays back down beside her. 

"There we are." She says gently as he rests his head on her shoulder. She wraps her arms around him and holds him close, tugging the covers up over both of them. He’s asleep in seconds. 

He wakes up early in the morning. No matter the circumstances he's always up early, the same way that he's always up late. 

He rolls over to her, looking at her in the thin morning light that streams in from the window. It's the first time he's ever really seen her. Her dark hair curls and waves over the hotel pillow and the rest of her face is pale in comparison. He takes in her long, straight nose and frosted-pink lips. He can imagine her eyes; deep, dark brown under her closed lids.

He’s found some grounding with himself, with her. That spiraling, falling apart feeling is held at bay. He strokes her hair back away from her forehead with a gentleness that doesn't usually come easily to him. He lets his hand linger on her forehead for a moment. He feels an absurd surge of love for her. Not proper love, he knows that, but the love of when you're very alone and you can love anything that makes you less so. He would kiss her goodbye if he could, but he doesn't want to wake her. 

Then reality crowds in and the moment breaks. He’s reminded suddenly of Joe Miller, reminded of all the times that Ellie must have looked at him the same way in the early morning. Reminded of all the things you don’t know about a person, things you can’t know until it’s too late. You can never really know someone's heart. 

A question sinks down into the pit of his stomach. Will this always be what he remembers when he tries to love anyone? 

He doesn’t let the thought go any further. The emptiness is horrible, but the hollow feeling can be filled up again, with time and patience it would end. But to think that he would always be tainted, never really able to leave it behind? It’s just too terrible to think about. 

He gets up. Time to get back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was really the chapter I've been waiting for, I hope y'all liked it!


End file.
